


Presence of Mind

by ValidAsshole



Category: Naruto
Genre: Board A: H/C Board B: Tobirama, M/M, Sibling Incest, depressed hashirama nd worried tobi, ever wake up at 12 am and think: fuck gotta write some hashitobi shit, i have so many wips send help, lowkey hashimadatobi but they think he's dead so like and its very read betweent he lines, now edited!, rarepairbingo2019, why am i like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 22:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19049848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValidAsshole/pseuds/ValidAsshole
Summary: Hashirama really should go home, and yet he stays to watch the orange glow as the sun sets and the stars reveal themselves. He looks at the view- and wonders what Madara thought when he left.





	Presence of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry

The world falls apart. His world has fallen apart by his own hands while they tell him there was no other choice, and his friends carry him home and keep his pieces together for him, because he’s destroyed it himself, hasn’t he?

 

How many more things will he destroy?

 

The Mokuton was for creating, for living, for _hope_ \- the very antithesis of a Shinobi. It was so rare because even as a kekkei genkai it required a certain temperament and a certain talent- and he hadn’t realized he’d changed so much without looking to go against his own nature. _It is his nature, maybe it always has been, for who else could kill their heart so readily and so easily?_

He can’t think at all in this place and it drives him insane. He can feel a ghost dropping tears on his head and feel the blood splatters rolling across his skin even as he knows it’s - just- the rain falling.

 

_Get a load of this monster- He doesn’t know how to communicate. His mind is in a different place, will everyone please give him a little bit of space._

Madara’s heart was in a good place- even if he didn’t care for socializing and letting people understand him; he put no effort into explaining misunderstandings when people jump to the negative conclusion immediately- if you didn’t put the effort in yourself, Madara would not give an inch. He had always been the best of the two of them, fundamentally kind where Hashirama was decidedly not, his kindness came from a very different place. Stubbornness and guile, woven masks, and the easy smiles that so endear others. Even in the end- he wonders if Madara truly would have killed him(The clone had only expelled when he let it, but there was no time to consider, the opening he was given was small with how well they knew each other. He hadn’t expected Hashirama to -)

 

_Get a load of this train wreck. His hairs a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet. But little did he know that time will welcome him with open arms._

He'd told Madara he’d figure out a way to get them out of war. Out of endless death and easy kills, told him he’d bring him to peace. Maybe, it was a lie all along, because humans stick with what they know, and Shinobi only know how to kill, and not one veteran of the war stopped and tried out peace for the first time.

The peace he had found for them, that they had carved out, laid in the trophy case like a prize everyone was too afraid to touch. The price had been so expensive, no one wanted to ruin it, no one wanted to be the one to wear it down. In the end, was peace just a pretty vase welded from too hot flames, a decoration that serves no purpose?

In the end, had he thrown it on the floor himself. Was it taking up too much space?  _Control._

He lays in the pieces and wonders why he’d ever thought that time would heal all wounds, wonders why he’d tried to believe that it would be fine, that they’d ease into it, that they’d all _learn._

_It was all a lie._

It hurts - it hurts too much.

His best friend is dead, a part of him leaves with him. He's glued together by clumps of ash and yet so many people look up to him, so many people praise his strength, tell him they’re in awe of how he protected _his_ village, tell him that he did the right thing.

So why?

Why does that sweet face laying on the bitter ground still make him shake.

 

The rain is falling and he is falling and he pretends the tears aren’t.

On top of the place overlooking the village, he looks down at the dreary scenery, looks at what may have been Madara’s last vision of the Village Hidden in the Leaves( _their Konohagakure_ ). He wonders what Madara thought when he looked out, what he felt. He wonders when he let Madara go, wonders when he let him fall, wonders when he stopped seeing him- saw the visage of a clan head and a Uchiha instead.

He wonders if he should let go as well.  
He looks out at the setting sun, sees the stars start to appear- waits another moment. The village starting to fall asleep and yet not quite, the quiet shinobi that had been running through the day switching out for the night owls. The birds squawk and sing at him as if to keep him company, and he can hear the trees singing to him. The melody smears him in loneliness, reminds him he’s the only one who can hear their words, no one else will ever know of their story, the history beneath their feet.

If Hashirama were the Earth itself, he’d imagine Madara to be the rain, dropping down onto him, choosing to keep him alive, or leave him heaving, or pelt him and leave him drowning, or maybe just leave him. Madara, who went where the wind would take him, Madara who would always come back to his family, in a cycle even he wouldn’t deny, who would burn the world and who cared too, too much.

The shivering of his hands have spread to his entire body, and he pretends he doesn’t make a sound as he curled his hand into the ground and the salty rain fell onto his face. He knows he must make a sad sight now, he can’t control his face, not when - not when - This face looked down on Madara and these hands had pierced his heart and these legs had walked away and this chakra had buried the body with such a terrible jutsu. They are not his, he wants to think. He wonders when the pieces that made him up had gotten so rotten.

 

“It’s time to come home now, Hashirama.”

And all of a sudden there is a hand on his shoulder and the soft words jar him out of his trance to see the sun is already rising. Where had time gone?

  * Tobirama finds him.



“Just a little while longer.” he says, knowing the rain has stopped and hopes the tear tracks are gone from his face. At least the shakes have mostly calmed.

“You’re not well, it’s not good to neglect your health so.” he pretends he doesn’t know the truth behind the shaking to get him to come home. Subtle, and Hashirama can’t hate him for it, knows he has been worrying him.

But even as he says so, he sits next to him. Firm hands placed on his shoulder, and he turns to look at Tobirama and thinks he should look away, those piercing eyes look at him and must see his broken pieces and must see him too well for his peace of mind - a funny thought.  He can’t look away, not when Tobirama isn't covering up his thoughts- not when he looks so sad. Had he abandoned Tobirama to sadness, as well? The hand on his shoulder moves to reach for his face, and a thumb lightly run underneath his eyes, and when had he started crying again?

He pushes the hand cradling his face away and tries to wipe away the tears, tries to stop crying- not when Tobirama was here- he had promised himself he would not be the reason behind his brother's sadness, that he would be strong for his little brother ~~s~~. But the tears won’t stop coming, and he feels like a child trying to wipe away tears with little to no headway.

But Tobirama is there, and Tobirama is too good to him, because his hands are pushed away to stop him from irritating his eyes and he’s pulled into a hug. _Tobirama hates hugs._ He always yells at him for being to touchy-feely, but he thinks he must be trying to comfort him, even if he’s uncomfortable, and as much as he doesn’t want to hug Tobi if he doesn’t like hugs, he can’t bring himself to pull away, not when he feels the sharp edges of his emotions start to curb, not when he anchors him, and the heart beating in his ears calm him and _at least he is still alive._ One of his hands keep him in place, hold him closer, draws him deeper into his calming embrace, and he feels the other rub nonsensical patterns into his shoulders and down his back.

Despite himself, he feels the tears get worse. How long will he cry? How long will he be this mess made of vines and plants that care too much?  Everything feels like too much and not enough. His emotions are too uncontrolled and he wants to shove them down into an abyss, and yet they keep floating upwards. 

Tobirama does not hush him, just whispers calming words into his ears, runs fingers through his hair, and slowly his shaking stops and his tears stop and he keeps his face pressed into a tear-stained shirt.

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

And he thinks about it only for a second, because is there truly? He did this himself, chose this himself, let Madara lead them to the end, and -

 

“I just - I just want to feel something else. I just want to be okay.” he finds himself admitting.

His sweet, sweet brother holds him a little tighter, and he has a second to wonder if he’s manipulating him too, but when he sneaks a look at Tobirama’s face he does not see pity, does not see reckless obsession(He knows those faces all too well, sees them present in himself  on the bad days.) He wonders what he sees in that moment of eye contact, because he is being picked up and he knows they are leaving this place now, knows that Tobirama will not let him hurt himself by being here any longer. The place of their forgotten dreams and broken whispers.

 

He lets himself be set down on the couch, and curls into the cushion, clutches a pillow to himself, because it is so very cold now. Sniffles from the leftover tears and makes himself relax. He doesn’t know why he bothers closing his eyes when he knows sleep won’t come, doesn’t know why he bothers getting comfortable when he is in his brother’s home where he should be with his wife. He has been avoiding a lot of people lately, kept up on paperwork so they didn’t have an excuse to hunt him down and question him. So he could try to get himself out of the haze, have time to think and try to breathe.

There’s something that smells nice wafting up at him, and he sees that Tobirama has brought him his favorite tea and there is food in front of him, and how long had he zoned out? This was getting to be worrisome, how could he protect his village like this? Had he given it all up just to fail?

“Eat.” the order brings him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he takes a sip of tea to calm his roiling insides, looks at the food and wonders if he can keep it down with how his stomach aches and his head keeps spinning. It’s never been this bad before.

But Tobirama is looking at him, waiting for him, so he picks up the chopsticks and starts eating. He gets three-quarters through after starting though- _how long had it been since he had last eaten?_

Tobirama looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish. Ah- he had given him a small portion, but he looks down and he feels sick, he looks up at Tobirama and feels guilty, even this, he couldn’t do right, and he feels like crying again. Tears that so often didn’t come where so easily falling today. A sigh like he is being difficult, before he is pulled closer and a hand rubs at his belly.

“Does it hurt too much?

He finds himself nodding to confirm it without even thinking about lying, and the cold fingers on his stomach feel so nice, he finds himself truly relaxing into the touch, instead of the forced relaxation from earlier.

He opens his eyes at a movement to find food being held in front of his face, blushes and opens his mouth to say he could eat by himself- but when he opens his mouth to speak, he finds food taking up space needed to talk instead. He grumbles but eats it obediently, really, Tobirama is the last one who should be heckling him about eating and resting and taking care of himself, when he often did the same thing, but he always did stop and rest in the end. Hashirama had never had to really step in, because Tobirama never let it get too far- so far.

He tries to take the chopsticks back, but his hands are pushed away, and he finds himself being fed by his little brother - really, he should be the one feeding him, the menace! But it’s nice, sitting here, after so many days stewing within himself. And it’s been so long since he’s made sure Tobirama knows he appreciates him, so busy with convincing Madara and soothing the rift between their clans and learning about diplomacy to make sure his village wouldn't crash and burn. The eyes on him feel less piercing now and he does not stop himself from saying the words on his mind, has been negligent in being so forgetful. Looks at him, really looks at the loving face of his little brother, who looks as if Hashirama is his world (he shouldn’t be, shouldn’t be the center of anyone’s world, he finds his faulty core the center too many times to count), looks as if he would do anything for him even if Hashirama spit in his face and fought him. The look in his eyes, his expression - it is Devotion maybe, love maybe.

“Thank you,” and because he has little self control, even now when he finds he barely has the energy for words, “I love you.”

 

The hand still rubbing at his stomach has found itself under his clothing and he finds he can fit a little more food in, that the anxiety gnawing at him has calmed a little, and the need to rot eased into a ignorable want. The last bite comes with a sigh of relief, because as much as he loves Tobirama, eating is not on his mind right now. Nothing is - not black eyes, or foxes, or fans, or anything- really.

Tobirama doesn’t stop touching him, and he can’t find it in himself to tell him to stop, hands finding purchase on his skin, underneath his clothes, a soothing gentle touch. Soft, not quite innocent, but not charged with sexual intent either. Too close for brothers - but so fond and so caring that he feels he’ll split apart if he denies this.

A voice breaks that calm acceptance asking, “Is this okay?”

He finds himself humming an affirmative, nuzzling his head into Tobirama’s broad chest, lets himself be calmed, loved, cared for.

He takes a gulp, lets his eyes open to meet Tobirama’s, for this is not a request he can make lightly, not one he is willing to crush into a shirt, feels like a leap even as he says it. Looks into his eyes so his words can not be mistaken for something else. He takes in all the sensations he is feeling right now, his brother's chakra mingling with his, the soft hands and eyes on him, the low lighting framing his face and the soft smile on his face, and hopes it will not be taken away.

“Touch me, please. Make me feel again, please.” he pleads.

“Of course, Anija.” 

It is said with no hesitation and maybe he doesn't deserve this kindness, but he can't stop himself from leaning closer. Finds himself closing his eyes again when rough lips find his, even as he tries to keep them open to memorize everything for this moment. When he’s tilted to lay on the couch, and Tobirama settles on top of him.

Tobirama leads, slots their mouths together, deepens the kiss and lets his hands slide along up his sides to play with his nipples and Hashirama finds that he has to fight to stop himself from just clinging to Tobirama’s shoulders and taking what he gives. He feels his body getting hot, too hot (but so much better than the numbing coldness), from just a simple kiss, from light touches and a body pressing against him. He squirms to get closer, to get more.

There’s teeth on his lips and a light chiding nip, and he tries to stop squirming, but it is so hard with how his brother looks above him, so pretty and so passionate. He can probably feel how hard he is with the thigh pressed to his crotch, spreading his legs apart. But it is ok, because they are together, and he’s not alone and he thinks Tobirama is too sweet to him and he should at least obey silent orders when he is asking for so little. As Tobirama pulls back a little, his hands still moving, Hashirama can hear his won heart pounding, and the ragged breaths that leave his lips.

"You are excited for me, aren't you? Good." He says, hand lightly trailing up his chest. He pouts up at his brother and wonders if he’d begrudge him for asking for more kisses. They were so nice, teasing - yes, but they let him learn Tobirama, a silent communication that worked well and felt even better.

He abandons that thought when the clothing Tobirama had snuck underneath earlier are slowly pulled off, leaving him open for a mouth. The bites are soft and light and probably won’t leave a mark and he finds his hands entrapping themselves in wild hair to encourage more, a light pull and he knows that he gets the idea because in the next moment, teeth bite ruthlessly into him and he finds his back arching with a gasp he can't contain. Tobirama takes his time tasting him, leaves no place untouched, unmarked. Takes his time exploring him and his eyes look up at Hashirama every so often, pausing to praise him, to tell him how well he’s doing, how good he’s being, and it rushes downward and makes his head dizzy with happiness and lust and pride. It feels like he’s worshiping him, his body, rewarding him with every movement of his tongue and every harsh bite of sharp teeth and it is too much and not enough and he will not ask for more.

Lets those hands wander and that mouth do what it will and returns the touches with his own, and lets himself get lost and knows that Tobirama will pull him back and steady him again if he wanders too far, even as he pulls whines and gasps and moans from him.

This is- this feels like everything.

His hand moves lower to circle at his entrance and he moves his hand to stop Tobirama, to pause for a moment.

“Too far? Do you want to stop?” he asks and he looks ready to do so, but Hashirama shakes his head, moves them so that his head is next to a deliciously hard dick and

“I want to- first.” he says, letting his cheek rub against him and he hears Tobirama’s breathe hitch. Instead of an answer, he feels a hand moving to his hair and he lets himself be led and let his mouth lick at the cock and fondles Tobirama’s balls as he opens his mouth to take in as much as he can. Tobirama has fallen uncharacteristically quiet, and when he looks up at him to see him with biting into his hand, their eyes meet. He keeps eye contact as he lets his tongue dip into his slit and Tobirama can't quite contain how he immediately groans. The sound rushes straight to his dick, and he wonders what he must look like for Tobirama to blush so. He moves his hand up so to take the hand Tobirama is using to cover up such pretty noises and holds it with his. 

 

He keeps their eyes locked and he feels a pull on his hair in retaliation and it sends his blood rushing. He lets himself be pulled into his task, sucking and running his tongue on the underside of his dick, lets his tongue swirl around Tobirama’s head, and he feels the hand tighten in his hair and linked hands mold together as muscled thighs quiver and he’s pulled away before he can truly reach his goal.

“Enough, you keep going on like that and I’ll come too early, naughty Anija.”

“That was the point.” he finds himself saying cheekily, and it was a great idea because he’s being pressed back into the cushions in the next second. Fingers find themselves inside him before he can prepare himself, but he is already so relaxed, and the stretch is magnificent and it doesn’t quite burn, not with how much oil Tobirama has used, but it sets part of him aflame, and he lets go to pleasure. Lets his hand come to run down his back, and lightly digs his fingers in to hear the way Tobirama moans.

Bites his lips to hide the worst of the embarrassing noises that he makes. Tobirama doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, decides to drive Hashirama further until he can not think about hiding mewls and whines anymore. If it is the latter, he is doing a good job, with how he crooks his fingers inside him, rubs at his prostate ever so often, ignoring his dick to further abuse his nipples, to trace around his face, to find his throat and put his hand around his neck, controls him. He doesn’t squeeze, but he leaves it there. _You’re mine, it says._ The possessive gesture combined with the fingers inside him, playing with him, has him moaning wantonly, has him almost begging. Has him asking for more without words. Lets his body arch into the pleasure and the sounds spill from his lips and Tobirama still takes his time taking him apart, speaks praises and filth and he can only whimper in response. A hand still at his throat, he moves his head down to steal a kiss and Hashirama thinks he must be able to taste himself in his mouth, and he feels precum drip down his cock. He shudders and has to stop himself from cumming right then, with how good it all feels.

When the kiss ends, he finds himself trying to chase lips, but Tobirama only chuckles at him, and he thinks he didn’t know his brother was so, so cruel. He thinks he ought to take that thought back in the next moment as Tobirama pushes into him, and he would if only he could remember what it was he was thinking.

 

He sets up a rhythm and it’s slow and sweet, but he avoids his prostate and Hashirama feels like he is going to lose control of his Mokuton if Tobi doesn’t stop taking his time and teasing him, feels tears gather and slide down his face and collect on the couch with his drool and it is too much, being so close to the edge. Just when he feels like he can’t handle it anymore and vines start to sprout from the wooden floor, Tobirama shifts and the pace shifts, and he is so tricky, using his chakra sensing for such a purpose. Suddenly, every thrust is hitting his prostate and he finds himself crying out, feeling lucky that Tobirama is here with him, that he won’t let Hashirama go, that he won’t let Hashirama tear himself apart, feels lucky that they are together and that he is not alone in the pain of losing Madara, because Tobirama is with him, and they distract each other with touches and pain and love and every thrust feels like it is springing him apart and back.

The hand at his throat squeezes along with a stroke of his dick, a thumb swiping over his head, and he is gone with a choked out call of his name and Tobirama strokes him through his orgasm, pumps all the cum out of him as he rides the aftereffects of his orgasm. Soon after, he feels Tobirama burying himself in him after a few more thrusts and it is almost overwhelming, but it is only a moment before he is filling him as he comes. Hashirama feels sated, and sticky and unclean. He waits to voice his thoughts when Tobirama collapses on top of him for a moment, knowing he doesn’t want to move from this embrace, but it seems Tobirama hates the feeling more than he does, because soon their pleasant connection is broken and he pushes and prods them into the restroom.

It only takes a moment to shower and get most of the mess from between his legs cleaned up. He thinks that they are going back to bed, but Tobirama has filled the tub and it would be a waste of water to drain it now. Tobirama explains himself by saying he was still too tense and that he needs to relax.

He thinks he knows the truth when he lays back against Tobirama's chest, and Tobirama runs a soft cloth over his body, pampers him and kisses at his throat and the sensitive spot behind his neck. He hasn’t ever felt so cherished, too busy with battle and war and getting stronger, and he finds the feeling too much as he cries happy tears this time. Doesn't stop himself from asking when Tobirama had started loving him so, why he is so devoted to him. Tobirama only gives him a fond look like the question is silly, chuckles and calls him a fool and he wants to ask for a better answer, to whine and pout, but he instead decides to turn to hold himself closer to Tobirama and tell him “If so, then I am your fool.” and stubbornly does not hide his face. Tobirama only hums as if that is obvious and it makes something soften within Hashirama, something that hardened when Madara left and for a while his head is quiet.

They go to bed after Tobirama dries and ties his hair up into a simple braid, dresses him up in a sleeping yukata and cotton undergarments and holds him in his arms, and he thinks he can’t be too bad, if Tobirama loves and holds him so.

 

_There is so much blood on his hands, but his loved ones take them and hold them even so._

_Time is slowly tracing his face, so strangely, so strangely._

_Yet, he can't help but feel at home in this place_.  



End file.
